


Extinguished Stars

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Series: The House of Fëanor chronicles [14]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Doriath, Gen, Kinslaying, hurt with little comfort, injuries, post-Thangorodrim trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17611046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: The sons of Feanor attack Doriath and face the consequences of their actions.Part of my The House of Feanor Chronicles, but can be read separately. All deaths canonical. Any additional angst is mine.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to translate another fic first, but it is just a tiny one-shot and this story has been nagging me to be translated.

**Prologue**

“For victory!” Maedhros raised  his glass, the wine sparkling just like his eyes shone; gray, proud, strong despite Angband, despite the defeats in Bragollach and Nirnaeth.

They echoed him in this toast, their voices sure, their hearts hopeful. Blood pulsed in their veins, fire flowed under their skin; the Oath had awaken again and demanded action and they obeyed. The scarlet wine reflected in crystal, the setting sun cast bloody reflexes on their faces as they drank. For victory.

At that moment Maedhros was once again the eldest son of Feanor, proud, pushed forwards by the burden of his Oath. Caranthir had seen him like that years ago, when he had watched the Enemy from his walls on Himring, vigilant for the slightest motion. His eldest brother’s fortress was grim, as was the commander – ever watchful. Only the defeat in Nirnaeth dimmed Maedhros’s will, made them all wander aimlessly, trying to heal the battle wounds, knowing that the Enemy had thrown them on their knees and they were unlikely to rise.

But rise they did. They gathered all the forces they still possessed, they formed new troops. Though they were pitifully small comparing to the forces they had once had, they were still fearsome, disciplined and deadly for those who dared to stand in their way. And neither friend nor foe.... The words of the Oath rang in their ears, the horses seemed to run to the rhythm of the words whispered more and more often as they approached their destination.

They rode to reclaim their heritage. Arm in arm they followed their eldest brother, who led their forces just like he had promised, like they had sworn to their dying father. The standards of Feanor were once again flying above the riders.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

 

Maglor walked like a drunk person, his fingers still clutched around his sword grip. He felt as is his legs were to fail him any moment and he would just sink down, wishing to curl and forget all he had seen. Celegorm had died by Dior’s hand, but Curufin’s rage had done little good as he had fallen too.

 Maglor found Caranthir on one of the corridors, surrounded by bodies and bathed in his own blood. He hardly found strength to get up, he would have stayed there, with his brother on his lap, if not for the fear that made him run through the corridors. He had lost Maedhros from his sight a long time ago and Amras had led the attack from the opposite side. Where were they now? Maglor feared he would find them lifeless as well. Where did his redheads vanish...

It was impossible to miss Maedhros’s red cloak. Maglor lost his breath, his heart missed a beat or two and then he ran towards the silhouette leaned against a pillar. No, not leaned, he realised in terror when he reached his brother and saw a sword dug deep in his left side. Maedhros was hanging limply on the blade stuck in the wooden pillar behind him, his face ashen. His jacket was sticky and there was a puddle of blood growing under his limp right arm.

“Nelyo...” Maglor dropped on his knees, his scarf already in his hands. He loosened and removed his brother’s scarf, reached with his shaking fingers to find a pulse.

He felt faint when he found a weak pulse. Maedhros was alive and it was enough to push Maglor into action. He unbuttoned his brother’s jacket, but the chainmail, though damaged, wasn’t ripped completely and prevented him from seeing the wound. Only after he removed the blade with effort, trying not to enlarge the wound in that process, he managed to get access to it and pressed the scarves. Maedhros didn’t even moan, unconscious and indifferent to his brother’s actions.

“Kano!” Heard Maglor behind him and turned around.

Amras stood, frozen, his blade still dripping blood. His face was grimy, he must have wiped it with a dirty glove. His gray eyes, when he approached Maglor, were glassy and empty. _He knows,_ realised the singer. He had seen.

“Help me,” he ordered hastily. “Maitimo is still alive.”

Amras shook off the stupor, knelt beside them and put his sword aside. He took care of Maedhros’s broken arm, where the bone had pierced the skin and stuck out from the growing swelling. Amras’s hands, Maglor noticed with envy, did not shake at all.

***

A sharp pain from his arm was the only thing coming to his head, pounding as if about to split in half. Maedhros lost his breath, then gasped spasmodically as a wave of panic sent him straight back on the cliffs of Thangorodrim. _No, nonononoo...!_

“Nelyo! Nelyo! Everything is fine, just calm down,” he heard his brother’s familiar voice. “Careful, don’t move, you’ll rip the stitches. It’s alright.”

“Don’t lie, Kano,” moaned Maedhros quietly. He tried to open his eyes, but his head swam and his stomach rebelled, so he swiftly shut themback. This wasn’t fine...

“Well, no, it’s not,” admitted Maglor; he sounded as if he had been trying to convince himself to this lie, but Maedhros was unable to focus. If only he hadn’t felt so sick...

His brother’s arm moved under his back and elevated him. Though Maglor was gentle, a sharp pain in his side joined the unpleasant sensations.

“Drink,” ordered the singer and pressed a mug to his lips. “Careful, Alcarino has just finished patching you up. They pinned you like a butterfly...” he spoke somewhere near; softly, pointlessly, sounding as if he was about to cry. “They got you...”

“She did,” Maedhros corrected him with a moan. “Nerwen... She hit...”

“But someone else pinned you with the sword I took from your side,” muttered Maglor. If he reacted in any way to the fact that it was their cousin who was responsible for his brother’s state, Maedhros couldn’t see it; he dared not to open his eyes, feeling he would immediately throw up what he had just drunk.

“She had... a child... and the jewel... But I couldn’t... not her... a moment...” Maedhros was grateful for Maglor’s arm keeping him up, supporting his back. “I’ll suffer for my chivalry,” he muttered.

“Shh, easy. Drink,” Maglor reminded him, pressing the mug back to his lips. “It will help.”

Maedhros forced himself to swallow until his brother took the mug. He sat there with his eyes closed, strangely light and numb, until the pain lessened. Only then did he dare to open his eyes, knowing that such strong medicines would soon send him to sleep.

He regretted it as soon as he had done so, and the nausea had little to do with it.

“Who? Kano, w-who?” he uttered when he saw Maglor’s face, circled with short hair. “A-amras?”

“Fine and fit.” Maglor closed his eyes for a moment, as if from relief that he could start with good news. “He’s gone for a chase.”

“Who?” Insisted Maedhros, too weak to force himself to try and find his brothers’ fëas.

“Tyelko. Curvo.” His brother’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes glued to the floor. “Moryo,” he added with a muffled sob and bit his lip. His arm still supporting Maedhros shook like a leaf on the wind.

“All?” repeated Maedhros in disbelief. “All three of them?”

Maglor only nodded. Maedhros didn’t see more as his heavy lids fell on his stinging eyes. He didn’t object when his brother lowered him gently back on the bed, muttering something about an open break with breaking voice. Maglor’s voice was the last thing he registered before falling into merciful sleep.

***

The hours following the attack were utter chaos, but in the chamber of the sons of Feanor they all mingled in a feverish dream. Maedhros either slept restlessly or woke for a moment, disoriented. Vorindon watched him, though if he was to be completely honest, he’d rather have helped the remaining sons of Feanor deal with the chaos in the orphaned troops. He knew Maedhros needed his rest, but now that he had nothing to do, he couldn’t help but think about what they had done and about the consequences the attack on Sindar would bring.

They achieved nothing. Even if the sons of Feanor had counted on Dior surrendering at the sight of their force and giving up the jewel in return for his people’s safety, this plan had gone to pieces with the first arrow shot by Sindar archers. All this attack was in vain, just like the life of the three brothers and many, many other elves. They had shed blood of those who could have faced the Enemy. Once again the blood of their kin had tainted the Noldor’s hands and hearts.

***

Alcarino left the wounded he was tending to with the elleth from Caranthir’s troops who was helping him and made haste to the chamber occupied by the sons of Feanor. He didn’t like the fact that Maedhros had sent Vorindon to fetch him; it couldn’t mean anything good, though perhaps Alcarino should have been glad the wounded was lucid enough to ask for him.

The healer sent Vorindon to use the break and have something to eat, and went in to the chamber.

“Nelyo...”

Maedhros was kneeling on the floor, tangled in the blankets he had been covered with. His left arm barely held him as he heaved. However, something in his posture stopped the healer from simply approaching and supporting him. He crouched close, ready to prevent the wounded from falling, but Maedhros pushed himself upright and sat heavily, leaning against the bed. His eyes were close, his fingers fiddling with the splints.

“Leave it, Nelyafinwe.” Alcarino placed his hand on Maedhros’s to prevent him from moving the dressings. The wounded jerked and looked at his companion vigilantly.

“Do something,” he hissed through gritted teeth, staring at the healer. “My h-hand. Just d-don’t cu-“ he stopped abruptly, his face twitched.

“I won’t,” promised Alcarino shortly. “Do you still feel sick?”

Maedhros muttered something in denial, but made no move suggesting he intended to return to bed. Alcarino suspected that pain and confusion brought back the nightmares and the wounded was doing all he could not to give in to them.

“Drink. It’s just water.”

Maedhros obeyed and took a sip, but then put the mug down and reached again for the bandages.

“My fingers are numb,” he said in a raspy voice, trying to reach the arm hidden in a sling. “Something is wrong...”

 “What is?” The healer grasped Maedhros’s hand and led it in the way that his fingers tangled around the healer’s wrist. The grasp lacked the usual strength, but it seemed firm.

“Hurts,” hissed the wounded. “But I can’t move my fin...” he dropped, looking sternly at his companion.

“Your fingers are fine.” Alcarino moved his thumb across the hand of the wounded. “And your right arm is broken. If you let me see, I’ll try to help you.”

“Right one is gone,” realised Maedhros and winced. “Do something. Please.”

Alcarino helped him sit back on the bed. Maedhros must have felt safer around him, for he stopped tensing at the briefest touch. He even closed his eyes and would have lied down, had Alcarino not been examining his head.

“What happened?” asked the healer suddenly and Maedhros, surprised by the question, jerked backwards. “What do you remember? Do you know where we are?”

“Menegroth,” replied the wounded reluctantly. “Leave it.”

Alcarino suspected Maedhros meant his questions, not his actions, but he didn’t intend to drop the subject.

“I need to know how much you remember and how well you can focus,” he explained calmly.

“Well enough to know you won’t let me be,” muttered Maedhros. “I remember... Kano? It was now or then...?” The wounded hesitated and glanced at the healer uncertainly. “No, there was a house by the lake, so... Alcarino!” Maedhros dropped suddenly, horror reflecting in his eyes.

“What is it?” The older elf firmly held the wounded lying down. “You remember correctly, though I didn’t expect you to. You woke up for a moment.”

“Where are my brothers?”

“Amras returned recently, his chase was fruitless,” replied Alcarino. “Makalaure is taking care of everything.”

“And the rest? Kano said...”

“They have fallen.”

Maedhros slumped at these words. He didn’t try to rise, just covered his eyes with his hand. He wanted to turn on his side, but a spasm of pain stopped him.

“They were found dead,” said Alcarino quietly, putting his hands on the wounded to ease his pain. “I couldn’t do anything.” He wasn’t about to mention his own dread at the sight of Maglor looking for him frantically, and then when he noticed Maedhros, white as a sheet, carried by Amras and one of his elves.

“Nerwen...” muttered the son of Feanor and opened his eyes vigilantly. “You asked... I was chasing her and a few others. She had it, I know she did...” his voice was muffled and he looked away. “But she had an infant. A baby, Alcarino. It was but a moment of hesitation...” he stopped and sat upright. “It matters not. Not anymore.”

 


	3. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long, I was preoccupied with another story, Immortal Instruments.

**Chapter II**

 

The halls of Menegroth, Maedhros had to admit with reluctant awe, made an enormous impression, once he had a chance to take a closer look not in the midst of fighting, when he was only trying not to get lost. They also echoed every step he made in his heeled boots. Loud. The noise made him nauseous and dizzy. Maedhros tightened his grip on Vorindon’s shoulder. His friend looked at him with worry, but said nothing, for which Maedhros was grateful.

Though he had slept through most of the day, they didn’t want to let him up. Both his adjutant and Alcarino insisted that he should stay in bed, but once they confirmed the news from Maglor were not a feverish dream, Maedhros would not give in and ask them to help him dress. Now, the farther he went, the nosier it was around, the more he regretted his decision. His arm, though immobilised and hidden safely under the clothes, hurt mercilessly and his stitched side would not let him straighten fully. He preferred that, however, than laying idly and waiting for the pain in his broken arm to remind him of the terror of his captivity, leading him to losing the grip of reality.

***

Maglor was not in the least surprised when he saw his elder brother heading towards him. He didn’t expect Maedhros to lay in his bed, regardless to how terrible he looked. The singer realised he saw that, as probably did Vorindon securing his commander, but the Sindar watched the eldest son of Feanor with wide eyes. His red cloak, stained with blood, fell down his shoulders, but couldn’t hide Maedhros’s hand gripped on Vorindon’s shoulder. But despite this, the commander held his head high and walked steadily, softly, as if indifferent to discomfort. Only Maglor saw that his brother was a bit bent to the left and shorter than usually.

One of the elleths escorted to bring food to the prisoners charged forward suddenly and tossed the pitcher she was holding.

Instincts kicked in and Maedhros jerked to avoid being hit. He lost balance and dropped on one knee; only then did Vorindon grasp his arm to prevent him from falling.

“Murderer! Damn slayer of the children!” shouted the elleth, held by two guards. She had nothing to lose; she had empty eyes of a person who had already lost everything.

Maedhros took a few breaths before he pushed back on his feet. For a moment he couldn’t hide his suffering and gasped for air, as if he couldn’t breathe. The Sinda looked at him with malicious satisfaction.

“I can be accused of many things, but murdering children is not one of them,” hissed Maedhros. He approached the group of the Sindar, among which the one who had tossed the pitcher stood straight only due to the guards holding her. However, as the first words of the commander were not ones that would end her life, she dared to reply.

“Then where are the princes? They took them away from me, dragged them to the forest. What have you done with them?”

“Through which entrance?” Maedhros caught his breath, but his face remained ashen. Though a bit curved, he was still tall and the elleth realised finally that her fate was his to decide.

“Eastern,” she choked and tried to back away, but the guards still kept her by the arms. They let her go at the sign made by the commander and she hid between the others, shaking and numb.

“Bring here those who guarded that entrance,” ordered Maedhros, heading towards Maglor. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly when he reached him. He dismissed Vorindon and grabbed Maglor’s arm without a word.

“I didn’t know, they said nothing, just whispered,” replied the singer, leading him to the side. “Sit down,” he suggested.

To his relief Maedhros didn’t object, just sat down on the nearest chair. Maglor stood by his side, vigilant, with his hand ostensibly on his sword grip; a silent challenge for those who would dare to raise their hands on the eldest son of Feanor. He called Amras and they waited together until Celegorm’s Noldor were brought.

Maedhros moved as if intending to get up, but Maglor’s hand kept him on the chair. Despite remaining seated, Maedhros still made impression, questioning the elves of his deceased brother, shortly and firmly. He found the two who had been charged with the sons of Dior. He dismissed the rest and ordered the remaining two to be brought closer.

“What have you done with the children?” he asked sternly and fear appeared in their eyes. “Where are the boys my brother placed in your care?”

“We left them in the forest,” one of them dared to answer and backed away from Maedhros’s gaze. “There was no point in... Lord Celegorm was lost, we heard the news and tho...”

“Did you act on Celegorm’s orders?” The voice of the commander made them shiver; it was icy.

The one who had spoken just shook his head. His companion found some courage to speak.

“Tyelkormo died and those children were not needed. We wanted to join the chase, to avenge...” his voice went more and more quiet until he stopped under Maedhros’s stare.

On the opposite side from Maglor Amras hissed with disgust, confirming that those two had joined him indeed.

Maedhros got up and straightened, losing his breath for but a moment.

“Did my brother order you to abandon those children on the snow before he died?” he growled.

The only answer he got was a nervous head shaking. The two soldiers of his fallen brother stood before the remaining sons of Feanor and awaited the judgement of the eldest among them.

”You overstepped your orders and acted with ungrounded cruelty and deprived us of the opportunities those little hostages would have given us,” said Maedhros sternly. “And your actions shadow the memory of Celegorm. I will not stand such insubordination.” There was only one thing heard in his voice. A sentence.

Maglor was one of the few who didn’t even move at the sound of bared steel. He looked at Amras, who made the distance between him and the convicts in a few nonchalant steps. Two fluent movements, two pushes in silence and two bodies fell by Maedhros’s feet. Amras wiped his sword with the cloak of one of the dead and looked coldly at the elleth, who stared at him wide-eyed.

Maedhros broke the silence that fell in the hall, standing beside his youngest brother.

“You will stay here, Maglor. Amras, prepare your scouts,” he ordered shortly. “We will find those children,” he said and left, not even sparing a glance to the elleths.

***

Another stumble in the falling dusk resonated with a gut-wrenching pain in the arm, making Maedhros moan shortly. Broken, just broken, he repeated feverishly in his thoughts. Hurt, broken, set in splints, but still in one piece, he reminded himself, trying to keep his nightmares in check; they were there, waiting for a moment of weakness and distraction.

Snow provided some light, a gray glow between the leafless trees. The moon reflected in it, creating a dull light, almost soothing after the blinding whiteness of the day despite the lack of the sun. But the snow hid many traps and traitorous holes, covered stones and roots. Normally they would not have caused any problems to an elf, but this time every careless step resulted in pain and losing the precious remains of strength he still had.

Maedhros looked into a hole and a thin layer of snow slipped from under his feet, revealing a slippery stone. He slid down and yet again he was grateful for several layers of clothes that protected his broken arm and softened the impact of the fall, but he still needed a moment to sit down and gather his thoughts.

Getting out from the empty ravine deprived Maedhros of the last bits of energy. His head was swimming and the once dull headache was now threatening to split his head in half. The elf sat by a tree and grasped some snow in poor substitute for water. Rest, just rest a bit.... He placed some snow on the swelling on his head, ignoring the shivers. He would get up, he was just waiting for the ground to stop spinning...

A rustle and a muffled sound of steps made his instincts react despite his weariness. Maedhros jerked his head and tried to get up, but the world spun around him and a pull at his side made him curl. He changed his mind and took his dagger instead of his sword to have something to defend himself. Only now did he fully realise how foolish it was to get separated from the group, how stupid he was to think he could manage the search despite what Alcarino had said. He knew he had little chance against a healthy opponent.

The elf approaching him was getting closer and seemed not to care about the noise. He cursed under his breath as he walked through leafless bushes, heading straight to Maedhros. He was limping and for a moment the eldest son of Feanor analysed how he could use it as an advantage if they were going to fight, but then the elf’s hood got tangled in a branch and uncovered a red braid.

“Pityo!” Maedhros’s voice was rough from the hours of calling for the children.

Amras stopped abruptly then hastened his pace, going through the bushes with new energy.

“Have you gone mad, Nelyafinwe?! Do you want to freeze here?” Amras spoke quickly, angrily; he switched to Quenya. Maedhros could feel the rage boiling in him. “Where are your scouts? Get up! Or no, wait, sit,” he changed his mind as Maedhros let out a moan when he attempted to stand up.

“Wait... Coming... Just let me rest a bit,” he murmured.

Amras kneeled beside him and uncovered the layers of clothing with frantic movements. Maedhros shivered from cold and pain, but his younger brother seemed not to notice that until he got to the bandages.

“You tore your stitches,” he said angrily and pushed his shawl under the tight jacket to put some pressure on the wound.

Maedhros leaned to the left and his dagger slipped from his grip. Amras silently tucked it under his belt, then touched the forehead of the wounded, wet from snow. He put Maedhros’s hood on his head and buttoned the jacket as much as he could, ignoring the fact that his brother’s breathing became raspy.

“We have to go back,” said Amras sternly and pulled Maedhros on his feet.

“Did you find those children?” The half-closed eyes of the wounded snapped open, his gaze focused for a moment.

“No!” Amras growled ant put his arm around his brother, aware that the wounded was not going to go far on his own. “And I will not let you lose your strength on this madness anymore. We’ll never find them, this forest is accursed!”

“And have you considered the option that it’s not the forest but us?” asked Maedhros, but he didn’t look like he was going to object.

“All the more reason to get out from here.” Amras led his brother, this time choosing an easier way, not through the bushes He started quickly, but then just hissed and slowed down, also because Maedhros would never manage it.

“What have you done?” The older of the brothers showed some interest before dizziness made him look at his feet.

“Don’t even ask,” Amras growled at him. “I’ll take you back. Let’s go.”

 

 


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

 

Vorindon once again proved to be indispensable and the years spent on defending Himring, then Amon Ereb, allowed them to understand each other without words. Maglor was grateful for his help as Maedhros’s adjutant had taken upon himself a lot and organised guards and meals preparation, leaving the organisation of the orphaned troops to the son of Feanor.

Unfortunately, it soon proved that it was not going to be an easy task. Most of them despised the forced stay in the Sindar dwelling. There was a risk the refugees would try to regain their home, so they had to be vigilant as the potential attackers would be familiar with the underground city. But as nothing seemed to be happening, the elves became impatient and would gladly be on their way back home.

Celegorm’s soldiers in particular were eager to voice their displeasure. Some turned their mourning into anger, some criticised the earlier judgement and the verdict carried out so promptly by Amras. Maglor tried to stave off conflicts, especially between the elves of his fallen brothers and the Sindar who had not managed to escape from Menegroth and were currently kept under guard. No one wished for more bloodshed, though the prisoners reacted in various ways. Some dealt with all the restrictions and caused no troubles, but there were some who purposely provoked the guards. Those had quickly been separated as to not agitate the rest.

Maglor himself would give a lot to be far away from here, but the wounded needed to gather some strength before the journey and the issue of the lost children and the search was another matter that postponed their leaving. He really hoped that once Amras returned, regardless to the results of the search, Maedhros would be well enough to travel. He watched the growing tension with concern and wondered just how much longer he was going to keep them all in check without rest.

The dusk must have already come when Maglor spoke shortly with Vorindon and decided to check on his brother, but before he went to him, he came across Alcarino. Though the healer didn’t say a word, his whole posture, his firm, practiced movements, his back too straight and stiff - it all spoke of reprehension. Maglor didn’t remember when was the last time he had seen him like that and he wished not for any confrontation, so he just asked about Maedhros.

The last thing he wanted to hear was that Maedhros had gone with Amras to search for the children against any logic.

xxx

The Noldor soldiers rushed to help as soon as they spotted their two commanders struggling to make another step. Maedhros was almost limp in his brother’s strong embrace and barely moved his legs. His half-conscious gaze was locked on the ground before him and it seemed that the only thing keeping him upright was Amras’s arms. Despite limping himself, Amras didn’t pass the wounded to his men, just let them support him from the other side, at the same time sending someone to fetch Alcarino.

The healer met them before they reached the chamber and Amras let him take his place. Together they led, or rather dragged the wounded to the room the brothers had taken for their use.

Once seated on the bed, Maedhros slumped on the pillow and curled on his side around his broken arm, indifferent to the fact that he was still wearing his boots and his snow-covered cloak.

“Don’t sleep, Nelyafinwe,” Alcarino sighed in defeat. He placed his hand on the forehead of the wounded and hissed as he confirmed what he could see. “Do you hear me, Nelyo?”

“Mmm...”

“It seems to have finally closed,” said Amras quietly, pointing at the bloodied bandages under the jacket.

The healer nodded and having assessed the state of the wounded, he poured the broth he had brought from a bowl to a mug. Encouraging Maedhros to sit proved to be troublesome, but finally Amras lost his patience and sat beside him, so that his brother could lean against him. They didn’t risk giving the mug to the wounded, so Amras pressed it against his lips despite his weak protests.

“I will not say farewell to a fourth brother,” he hissed angrily as Maedhros rested his head on his shoulder in a frail attempt to object. “Drink, Alcarino wants you to.”

Slowly, sip after sip Amras forced the entire mug into him. Maedhros surrendered and swallowed as he was told, but his head kept lolling with soft moans and his fingers wandered aimlessly on the cloak.

“Alright, show me,” said Alcarino. He returned to the bed with a small lamp and forced the wounded to raise his head. “Open your eyes, Nelyafinwe.”

“No... Hurts...”

“If you hadn’t gone, it wouldn’t be so bad,” Amras reminded him cruelly, still holding him and not allowing him to lie down.

“Open your eyes.”

Maedhros obeyed and Alcarino looked right into his eyes, dazed and mulled with pain. He looked for a moment, lamp in his hand, and asked about how much Maedhros remembered from the last two days. Finally he gave him a few sips of a brew with an intensive scent and removed the light. The wounded immediately turned his head, closing his eyes and hiding his face in his brother’s jacket.

“Done? Can I... lie down?” he muttered pleadingly, though he had been stubbornly walking just a moment earlier.

“I need to see what you have done with your side,” Alcarino left him no space for delusions. He could not rest just yet. “Amras, keep him that way,” he ordered when Maedhros tried to back away as the healer touched his side.

“No... it hurts...” It seemed Maedhros still remembered that he should not hide anything from Alcarino. “Head... Side... a lot... A-arm?” Panic appeared in his voice. “Can’t move... Arm?”

“It’s an open break, what did you expect?” snorted Amras. “Just broken, remember?”

“You have not lost anything from your arm, Nelyo,” the healer calmed him down. “But let me see your side.”

Alcarino undressed Maedhros and reached for the bandages. Carefully, layer after layer he removed the soaked dressings until he got to the last one. Damping a cloth in a bowl of water, he wetted the bandages to remove dried blood, then finally got rid of the rest.

Amras inhaled sharply and embraced his brother tightly, even though the wounded no longer had strength to struggle and was only shivering.

“Is it bad?” asked Amras shortly over Maedhros’s head.

“It is, but it’s not fatal,” replied Alcarino grimly, cleaning the wound. “I will have to stitch it, Nelyo. Nelyo, do you hear me?” he repeated and placed his hand on the cheek of the wounded.

“No... leave it...”

“You are safe, I will not harm you,” promised the healer calmly. “But I cannot just leave it like that.”

Maedhros muttered something unhappily and sank lower resignedly to lean more comfortably against his brother. Amras embraced him tightly, moving up his left arm to immobilise it. Maedhros clenched his fingers weakly on his brother’s arm and their shaking was the only indicator that he was still conscious.

Alcarino worked silently, cleaning both wounds at his side, entering and exiting one. The wounded shivered weakly, but didn’t make a smallest sound. The healer put fresh stitches and bandaged the side, then carefully placed his hand on the sweated forehead of the eldest son of Feanor.

“Done?” moaned Maedhros and Amras jerked, surprised that his brother was still lucid.

“I am,” promised Alcarino. “You can lie down and sleep.”

Amras sat his brother and unbuckled his cloak to take it away. As soon as he was done, Maedhros lied down with a sigh of relief, shivering from cold and exhaustion, deprived of warm coat, though soaked with melting snow. His brother covered him with the nearest blanket and limped to bring more as Alcarino was cleaning his tools. Before he returned, he glanced outside and passed some orders to the guards protecting their commanders. He sent one to clean Maedhros’s cloak and forbid the rest to knock, biding them to enter if there was something important going on.

Amras returned to his brother and placed the blankets at the edge of the bed. The wounded was already asleep, drained with the blood loss and the healer’s actions. Amras crouched by his legs, still hanging limply from the bed, but hissed and changed position to kneeling. He removed his brother’s boots, under which a puddle of water had gathered, and placed his feet on the bed. Maedhros didn’t even stir, neither then nor later, when he was covered with two additional blankets.

“Sit down,” ordered Alcarino calmly when the youngest son of Feanor was finished. “Nelyafinwe is going to need you.”

“You think his nightmares will come,” realised Amras grimly, sitting obediently on a chair. He straightened his legs and winced with disgust. “This is just what he needs now. What we all need.”

“Show me you ankle.”

“As you wish.” Amras shrugged, but allowed the healer to remove his boot from his swollen ankle and put some smelling ointment on it. He was still furious he had managed to twist it in Thingol’s accursed forest, but returning with Maedhros had been taxing and the ointment brought some relief.

“Leave it like that for now.” Alcarino stopped him after bandaging the ankle, when the younger elf wanted to put his shoe back on. “And sit comfortably, Nelyafinwe will need someone hear.”

“You are doing this on purpose,” realised Amras, but he was weary enough to sit at the edge of the bed and rest his leg.

“Maedhros has to sleep for my treatment to work,” Alcarino reminded him. “And he will not sleep nor rest if the nightmares return. Watch him, please, he will listen to you. We can’t leave him with a stranger now, it won’t help.”

Amras just snorted and leaned against the bedhead. The healer picked his things and left quietly.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going out there wasn't very wise, was it, Nelyo?  
> Thank you for reading :)


	5. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm sorry for the delay, work and studies yet again got the priority. I hope I'll manage the last two parts more quickly.

**Chapter IV**

 

The maid got hysterical when she heard that the search for the children had been fruitless. When Maglor heard about the problem and went to the chamber where Nimloth’s maids had been locked, he found the elleth sobbing in the arms of one of her companions. She had red mark on her cheek, but seemed fine otherwise. The guards, however, were at the verge of losing their tempers.

“Be silent if you value your life!” One of them growled angrily. “Lord Maedhros went for those children of yours and who knows if that search is not going to kill him!”

“Silence, Valdano. Do not repeat gossip,” said Maglor and the elf turned towards him. “My brother needs rest right now, not your shouting,” he added reproachfully, fighting the urge to rub his stinging eyes.

A group of Amras’s elves, still covered with snow, came from the eastern entrance. Himeleth, who was leading them, stopped by the doors and looked  at the Sindar elleths with distaste.

“No one can say we didn’t try, but your forest tricked and lured us and we kept losing tracks and getting lost.”

“You lost Nelyafinwe too.” Maglor couldn’t resist the bitter comment. He knew his brother was sleeping under Alcarino’s care, but anger rose in him at mere reminder of his foolish endeavour.

“It was madness,” snorted Himeleth and left.

***

There was no way they could wait with the burial. Amras flinched at the mere thought, but the passing time left them no choice.

When they finally reached the chamber where the unburied bodies had been placed, Amras was sure his brother’s fingers left permanent marks on his forearm, so strong was Maedhros’s grip, who hold on to him in order not to fall over. He was determined to say farewell to his fallen brothers, so the youngest son of Feanor just gritted his teeth and limped obediently, trying not to think of what Alcarino would say.

“I had them placed alone,” he muttered quietly and pushed the doors.

The room was chilly and not overly big. The shelves by the walls suggested its purpose, but now three bodies of the sons of Feanor were placed inside instead of storages for winter. Someone had cleaned them from blood and covered them with cloaks.

Maedhros groaned at the sight, as if he had not believed his brothers. Still clinging to Amras, he walked to Caranthir, who was the nearest, and he knelt with some help. He let go of his brother and reached with his hand, shaking with exhaustion, to touch the cheek of the dead. Amras crouched beside him.

“Moryo...” whispered Maedhros in despair. He leaned to place a kiss on his brother’s forehead and suddenly fell forwards.

“What’s- Nelyo!” Amras managed to catch him in time only because he still had his arm around his brother’s waist.

Maedhros was limp and as white as his dead brothers. Amras sat on the floor and leaned the wounded against his chest.

“Speak to me, Nelyo!” He demanded, hectically searching for the pulse and gently slapping his brother’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare! You are NOT staying here with them!”

Maedhros’s head lolled, his lips, dry from cold and fever, split open, but no sound came from his throat, not even a moan.

“Wake up!” Panicked, Amras shook his brother more violently. “Wake up, Maitimo! You’re staying with us, do you hear me? You promised me once,” he added quietly, for a moment sounding like the younger elf who had vanished forever the moment they attacked.

Once shaken, Maedhros responded with a muffled moan, which Amras welcomed with relief. Calmer, he moved his brother into a more comfortable position, so that he would not rest his injured head on the pauldron. He moved his fingers along Maedhros’s neck, waiting for the weakness to pass. When at last he met his brother’s lucid gaze, his own eyes were cold and distant.

“I have already told you I don’t intend to lose more brothers,” he reminded Maedhros dryly, then reached for his canteen and gave him some water.

Maglor found them much calmer, though still sitting on the floor. As he went in, Amras turned around intending to remind the guard that he had ordered not to disturb them, but said nothing as he saw it was his brother.

“I don’t know if it’s good for you to have got up, but it certainly was for our troops,” said the singer quietly, examining Maedhros. “There was a gossip that this search would kill you and I had no chance to set it right.” Maglor crouched and squeezed Maedhros’s hand.

 “I noticed,” nodded the eldest of the brothers. “They needed to see me up... Are you wounded?” he asked sternly, looking at the singer closely.

“Wounded?” repeated Maglor with surprise. “No, why? A few scratches, nothing else.”

“You look like you were,” stated Maedhros and slowly rose. “Go get some rest after-“ The word _funeral_ would not pass his throat. “You haven’t had a chance, have you? We’ll take care of everything.”

“When?” Maglor just shrugged, ignoring the absurd comment about Maedhros taking the command. “The atmosphere is... harsh. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I will need you, Kano,” Maedhros reminded him gently, then his expression darkened as he looked at his fallen brothers. “What about their troops?” he asked gloomily.

“I split them between us. Amras, you’ll take Moryo’s, most of them wants to join you.”

“I expected that,” nodded the youngest. “Tyelko’s?”  
“Those will go under my command,” decided Maedhros. He looked at the dead one more time and closed his eyes, then grabbed Amras’s arm and turned towards the doors. “There’s no point in waiting...”

“Go, I’ll join you soon,” replied Maglor absent-mindedly and sat on the floor. As he started singing quietly, Amras stormed out, dragging his wounded brother behind. He couldn’t stand the singer’s voice, not now, when they were to go back among their soldiers and command. Now was not the time for mourning.

The dirge, though quiet, followed them through the corridor and Amras hastened his pace, as much as his leg would let him. Maedhros, still leaning on him, did not let him escape.

***

The ceremony was grim and quiet. They stood around the shallow graves that were to take in the three sons of Feanor. Perhaps it was the ice, or perhaps their fëar had burned out long before they died; their bodies did not turn into ashes like their father’s once had.

The officers of the dead mixed with the rest and were trying to find themselves in the new situation. Some still seemed lost; no wonder, when the sons of Feanor did not know fully who belonged where.

Maglor had left preparing the funeral to Caranthir’s second-in-command and he didn’t regret it. He wasn’t sure he would be able to lead the ceremony and he was glad he didn’t have to. He had said farewell to his three brothers and didn’t need to make the remaining two fall into pieces in front of everybody. They were still in foreign lands; the time for mourning would come once they got back to the relatively safe walls of Amon Ereb fortress.

To his left, Maedhros was struggling to stand upright; his white fingers, clenched on Amras’s forearm, must have gone numb. When the graves were already being covered with stones, the eldest of the brothers jerked, startling Amras.

“Nelyo?” whispered Maglor.

“Going. To. Fall.” hissed Maedhros so quietly his brother barely heard him.

Maglor was willing to believe that, seeing as his brother leaned forward and pressed his elbow to his left side. If he could, he wouldn’t have let him get up, but he knew Maedhros would have never forgiven him burying their brothers without him. He also knew the stubbornness was the only thing keeping Maedhros upright, but it would not work much longer.

“It will be over soon,” Maglor promised quietly and put his arm around his brother, supporting him discreetly. He suspected Alcarino wouldn’t be pleased if they let him fall.

By the time the funeral was finished, Maedhros regained his balance and leaned only on Amras as they went back to the caves. Maglor intended to leave him in his youngest brother’s care, but Maedhros stopped him before he left.

“Go get some sleep before we leave. We’ll see to the last arrangements with Amras.”

“I am not the one who needs rest here, Nelyafinwe,” the singer pointed out. “And I don’t know if it’s wise for you to ride a horse just yet.”

“We can’t stay here and I won’t find rest in these halls,” growled Maedhros. “I don’t need sleep, just a chair. And you at your best,” he added softly. “Go.”

“Alcarino may disagree,” said Maglor. “Pityo, do try to make sure he eats something at least,” he sighed as Maedhros sent him a look that ended any discussions.

***

The gossip was untrue. Vorindon didn’t even realise how tightly his stomach clenched until he heard that Maedhros got up and he wasn’t as bad as it  was said in the last few hours.

He wasn’t the only one. The guards on the corridors straightened, their enmity towards the prisoners turned into reluctance. Grim faces softened a bit, gone was at least part of their fatigue. Once again they leader had proven that his fea held to his hroa more tightly than they thought.

The big chamber, which had turned into their dining hall, was always full. The wounded who didn’t require constant help, but were dismissed from any harder duties, rested there or took care of smaller errands. Guards finishing their duty came in for a glass of wine or a light meal, if there was nothing warm. No one celebrated, but the chamber was buzzing with voices.

That buzzing stopped the moment the two redhead sons of Feanor came in. Everybody looked at the commander, many flashed a ghost of smile, their eyes lighting with hope. Maedhros looked keenly around and welcomed his men with a nod. Vorindon felt his gaze on him and rose. As soon as the sons of Feanor turned towards him, space was made for them by the table.

Maedhros walked steadily, but he looked like his own ghost. His grey, shining eyes seemed to be the only living part on his ashen face. His hair was tied in a neat braid falling on his back, but some loose strands stuck to his sweated forehead. His fiery cloak, now clean of the blood, covered his posture, but the movement showed the right sleeve hanging loosely at his side and the sling under the jacket. Maedhros kept his good arm low, close to his side and Vorindon noticed his white fingers clenched on his brother’s forearm.

Amras appeared to be his opposition. Though he was limping visibly, his movements were impatient, as if the slow pace irritated him, even if each step must have been difficult. He seemed to be bustling with energy waiting only to be released, which surprised Vorindon. He hadn’t had much to do with him in the years following the Nirnaeth defeat, but he couldn’t remember having ever seen the youngest of the brothers so furious. Amras seemed ready to explode at briefest excuse. The way he had carried out his brother’s verdict on Celegorm’s soldiers suggested that once provoked, he would not have any restrains.

The sons of Feanor sat before Vorindon dropped his musings and moved to the end of the table. His friend had purposely chosen the darkest part of the chamber, he realised as Maedhros sank in an armchair, then wiped his forehead and covered his eyes for a moment, before he realised what he was doing and he rested his arm on the table. Next to him, Amras stretched his leg with relief and cast a keen glance on his brother.

Vorindon filled their glasses and sat at a free chair. The commander thanked him and took a sip.

“Speak, Vorindon. What’s going on?”

Maedhros might have looked like his own shadow, but his voice was clear and strong as ever, allowing to fall into a normal rhythm and to forget about Celegorm’s and Curufin’s officers for a moment. Vorindon reported the events from the last two days. The eldest son of Feanor listened, paying more attention to him than to the plate with food his brother passed him. Finally he nodded in thanks and spoke.

“Tell people to get ready and ask Alcarino to come here. We leave as soon as we can.”

 

 


	6. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

 

In the end three days had passed before Alcarino reluctantly allowed Maedhros to mount a horse. If he could, he would have made him travel on a wagon, but the forest surrounding Menegroth would not let them to lead it swiftly in the direction they were heading to. However, Maedhros insisted on leaving, unable to bear the empty halls of Dior and the barrows, which attracted the eyes so and reminded of the price they had paid for that failed attack.

They travelled in silence, tensed and mistrusting. The forest emanated with reluctance, enmity even, making them vigilant, their hands gripping at their weapons at merest sound disturbing the silence. Therefore, as one of the elves at the front reported a fire somewhere before them, they all tensed, ready for a potential attack; few would be friendly towards them in these lands.

They found the fire by a fallen tree, where the enormous roots created a sort of tangled wall. The flame was all but extinguished, the small pile of sticks laying too far to ignite on its own. By this fire an elf laid, his clothes bloodied. He was in a deep sleep, exhausted by either cold or his wounds, but as one of the Noldor poked him with the end of his spear, he sat up swiftly, a knife in his hand. Seeing the strangers surrounding him, he wanted to spring on his feet, but his strength failed him. The next moment a sword pointed on his chest made him freeze.

“Don’t!” Came a sharp order from the behind. “I will not have you slaughter a wounded in my presence.”

“Stay out of it, Alcarino,” hissed the Noldo without turning, but he didn’t push his sword. “You do not command.”

“But he heals us,” Maedhros reminded him in a seemingly calm voice, with a threat behind of it. He rode closer and cast an indifferent glance at the wounded.

“What are you waiting for?” The Sinda could no longer stand the pressure. “Push and be damned in the pits of the Enemy!”

“Silence!” growled Maedhros. “If it were orcs, not us, you would have regretted it already.”

“As if you were any better,” spat the wounded with contempt and was rewarded with another poke of the spear.

“Disarm him and make sure he’s no threat, but don’t harm him.” The commander ignored the remark and spoke directly to his elves. “Alcarino, see to his needs and be as nice as to put him to sleep, so he doesn’t provoke anyone.”

The Sinda tried to struggle, but disarming wasn’t troublesome. He followed the healer’s movements with mistrust, but first and foremost with surprise, as if he was still expecting to be pierced at any moment. Alcarino pretended not to notice that while he tended to his wounds; the wounded elves in Menegroth, who had not managed to escape, had treated him the same way. It made no difference for him, but the Sinda seemed to be troubled.

“Why?” He asked finally as Alcarino put a piece of waybread in his hand. He was still watching the Noldo, but his hunger won over his suspicions and he swallowed the offered food in a few bites.

“That’s just my nature.” The healer shrugged. He could hear the Noldor getting impatient behind him. “Stay silent and no harm will come to you.”

“Where are you taking me?” Seeing that the elf tending to him was friendly, the Sinda tried his luck again.

“Our place,” replied Alcarino shortly. “I don’t know what will happen to you, that’s not my decision to make. But as long as I have something to say, I will not allow for murdering of the helpless.”

***

The forest was stuffy and hostile, but they regretted leaving it as soon as they rode into the open space, so unfriendly was the land they were travelling through. The east part of the forest, no longer protected by Melian’s girdle, was gradually being destroyed by the Enemy’s servants. Burnt, barren land would not cover with grass, as if the soil had been poisoned too. It was depressing and it didn’t help that they had left behind a ruined settlement of those who had been trying to restore this land to its old glory.

The weather was not on their side either. The wind, harsh since they had left the protection of the trees, soon became unbearable. The wind disturbed the horses, its merciless blows picking dust and ash from the ground, blinding them all and making them cough. The ashes seemed poisonous. Amras saw Maglor beside him wincing painfully to his memories and covering his face. As he explained briefly, the ashes reminded him of the fumes of the dragons that had once destroyed his lands.

As soon as they left the cover of the trees, Amras moved to sit behind his brother. Maedhros was taking the journey badly. He had wrapped his shawl around his mouth and nose, just like everybody, but his breath became more and more raspy, until he sank to lean limply against his brother. He had hardly leaned his head back, when a cough shook his violently and he moaned softly. His one arm still keeping his brother tightly, Amras put the other under Maedhros’s jacket and reached for the wounded side. The dressings were dry, so he had not aggravated the delicate stitches, but with every passing moment the wounded seemed less lucid.

“We’ll stop here,” said Maglor, before his younger brother could suggest that. “There,” he pointed to the right, where the ground was uneven and promised a sort of shelter.

The elves scattered in the hollows, dismounting and searching for the best place to wait for the wind to pass. They couldn’t hope for much, but any kind of shelter was better than nothing. There was no way they could make a fire to prepare a warm meal, but no one was eager to eat anything with dust anyway.

The brothers carefully took Maedhros from the saddle and laid him by the sharp edge of a wall that promised the best protection. At Amras’s command the horses laid down next to them, providing additional shelter and some warmth; the wind was icy, leaving Maedhros shaking and coughing.

Maglor appointed the guards, biding them to change frequently and cover their faces. He walked among his men as Amras tended to Maedhros. The youngest son of Feanor forced him to drink a few sips of herbs Alcarino had placed in his canteen in the morning. He rolled his cloak and placed it under his brother’s head, then covered him with blankets taken from his and Maglor’s saddles. The third blanket he tossed over his horse’s back and grabbed the other end to create a substitute of a tent over their heads. Breathing immediately become easier.

They could only wait for the wind to pass.

***

With every passing day it came to Bregnir in what kind of an unusual situation he had found himself in. At first that weird Noldorin healer had been giving him some herbs that left him dazed during the most of the journey, but he stopped as the worst weakness passed and as the others realised their prisoner would not cause trouble. Bregnir was ready to leave at first opportunity, but whether he liked it or not, he had to agree with the healer. There was no way he could manage a lone journey until he had healed his wounds and got to know the lands, so he stayed silent and obeyed the orders, postponing his journey.

At last they reached the fortress of the sons of Feanor. A grim silence welcomed them, which soon turned into a buzz of talks and crying, whenever someone learned about the death of a relative.

Temporarily forgotten in all this mess, Bregnir stood in the courtyard, looking around, when he spotted a child, undeniably a Sindar one. The girl stood on the gallery, leaning over the railing, then ran down the stairs. She looked around and stared at Amras with fear. The son of Feanor sent her a tired smile and placed his hand on her shoulder. He said something to her, at which the girl nodded and disappeared in the stables.

“Do you intend to just stand here?” asked Himeleth as she realised that their unwanted prisoner was still by the mount he had been sharing with one of Maglor’s subordinates.

“So you kidnap children too?”

Himeleth realised Bregnir had been watching Dinessel. The girl seemed tensed and a bit scared; no wonder, considering the circumstances of their return. The Sinda clearly misunderstood it.

 “Dinessel, come here.”

“What is it? I can’t, lord Amras...” The girl ran to them anyway and cast a curious glance on the stranger.

“Just a moment.” Himeleth placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Our new companion has clearly come to a wrong conclusion and seems to think lord Amras keeps you here against your will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offered you escape and protection at first possible moment.”

The elf’s expression proved this was exactly what he thought. Dinessel took a step back and grabbed the elleth’s hand.

“What? Why? Himeleth!”

 “Worry not, nobody is going to let him take you anywhere.” Himeleth squeezed the tiny hand. “I just wanted to forewarn you, didn’t want him to scare you. Now go, don’t make Amras wait.”

Dinessel didn’t have to be told twice. She ran towards the fortress, as if expecting the Sinda to really try and kidnap her. Before Bregnir shook off his surprise and the child’s violent reaction, Himeleth grabbed his arm and turned him to face her.

“Just to be clear,” she hissed. “Dinessel is a ward of our lord, ours too. Touch her and you will not live long.”

“I don’t think she will want to have anything to do with me, after you frightened her so,” commented Bregnir bitterly. “What now? Are you going to put me in the dungeons?” he couldn’t help the question.

“The cellars can be more useful,” snorted the elleth. “We’ll find something to make a use of you. Come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, there is one chapter left. What do you think of Bregnir?  
> Thank you for reading :)


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The fireplace was buzzing, showering the chamber with warmth, so pleasant in comparison to the blizzard outside. The flames consumed the wood, but Amras seemed not to pay attention, staring at them with unseeing eyes. His wet braids were slowly drying and he wrapped his frozen fingers around a mug with mulled wine; a pitcher stood at the table nearby. The youngest son of Feanor sat on a bench, leaning against the wall, seemingly nonchalant and at ease, with his leg resting on a stool.

The last week he had spent on a patrol. He had escaped the fortress, unable to stand the emptiness. Amon Ereb was full of memories of his fallen brothers, even if they had not lived there the whole time. He had spent the week riding and taking only as much rest as the horses required; a week in cold and snow, until the worsening weather forced him to go back. There was no way the enemy could creep on their fortress in such a blizzard and Amras would only risk the horses to freeze or break their legs on uneven ground hidden under snow. He had no choice but to return.

Maedhros joined him without a word and filled his glass. Amras glared at him, as if ready to object, but instead he just took a closer look on him and commented indifferently.

“You look better.”

A nod and a shrug was the only answer he got. Neither of them was in the mood for talking and the few elves present in the chamber must have sensed it, for they were soon left alone.

The wine was gone too. The hour was late and there was no one around who could bring them more, so the brothers had to fetch it themselves.

***

“Father shouldn’t have died at the very beginning.” Amras spoke softly, as if to himself, but his sudden voice startled Maedhros; it was so quiet in the cellar, just the two of them, sitting and drinking, both of them silent, lost in thoughts. “It is all his doing. He should be in here, with our people. Not dead, but living, struggling to survive in these accursed lands, fighting the Enemy. Watching us all die. He deserved that.” Amras refilled his glass and emptied it with a few long sips. His eyes were dry and empty when he looked at his brother. “He deserved to stand and see his children die in his war.”

“This is our war as well,” Maedhros pointed out grimly, nursing his own glass. His right arm still in a sling, now stained with red wine marks, where he had spilled some of his drink. “We knew what we were doing, when we repeated his Oath.”

“Did we?” Amras laughed bitterly. This time his hand shook a little when he took the bottle with strong dwarvish wine they were drinking. “Honestly, did we truly know what we were doing when we condemned ourselves? Look at me and tell me we knew, then, on that market place. That it would be just death, pain and madness. The damned ships Maglor so beautifully sings about, then Telvo...” The name sounded strange in his mouth. “Tell me you’ve ever imagined what Morgoth would do to all of us. To you.”

Maedhros shivered. This was not why they had come here, why they were drinking. He thought they would mourn their fallen brothers together. The last thing he wished to remember was the hell from his imprisonment.

“Stop it.”

“Did you know?” Once drunk, Amras never knew when to stop himself before saying too much. He stared at his brother, his eyes full of grief and anger. “Did you expect all the nightmares when we swore? No, Maitimo. The truth is, our people were scared that time and our father was mad. And we, we were just foolish children. All of this is going to turn into ashes anyway.” With that, Amras pushed himself from the table and walked towards the wall to sink on the floor there; somehow he managed not to spill his wine.

***

Maglor caught himself staring mindlesslly on a blank page again, but the words would not come. It should have been easy to let out all the grief, now that they were in a relatively safe fortress, but not a single verse came to say farewell to his brothers, nor to mourn them.

His father’s lamp rocked as Maglor kept moving it on the desk. The glowing crystal swayed more violently as Maglor jerked at the knocking to the doors.

“Come in.”

A small elleth, still of childish features, came to his office. She had a hunter’s jacket tossed over a plain wool dress and Maglor almost smiled at the sight. The girl must have still been excited to have been finally allowed to join the hunters. Or perhaps not, realised the singer as he saw her grave expression. Perhaps the jacket was simply at hand.

“What is it, Dinessel? What happened?” he asked. The girl was usually somewhere around, but she rarely came straight to him when she had Amras nearby, and he had just returned.

“Lord Amras isn’t...” started the girl officially, but stopped. “I was in the cellars, I went to bring some wine to the kitchens and... Lord Maedhros was there. Some-, something was not right, he would not answer me, and... And Amras...”

_‘And Amras is drunk_ ,’ added Maglor silently, rising from behind his desk. Only that explained why Dinessel had come to him. And if Maedhros had frightened her, something must have happened.

“Thank you. Go get some rest, who knows, maybe Amras will take you with him as soon as the weather improves.” Maglor sent her a tired smile and grabbed the lamp. “You don’t have to go with me,” he added pointedly, seeing that Dinessel hesitated.

The girl understood and left, and Maglor went to the cellars. He didn’t like the mention that Maedhros would not answer, because he knew that in this case it wasn’t ‘wouldn’t’ but ‘couldn’t’. And it meant no good.

The doors to the cellar were open. Maglor went inside and raised his lamp. He could feel the smell of smoke inside as the candle on one of the barrels must have just burned out. Amras was sleeping next to it, leaning against the wall, but Maglor did not wake him yet. His elder brother interested him more.

Maedhros had retreated as far from the doors as possible. Maglor was not in the least surprised by his empty stare nor by the stump pressed hard to his belly. His eldest brother glanced at him and tried to back away, but had no place to go.

“Pityo!” Maglor called over his shoulder. Just like he predicted, a sharp tone and a hint of alarm in his voice were enough to wake his brother; drunk or not, Amras was still a scout. “Come here and help me.

The youngest son of Feanor scrambled on his feet and came closer a little unsteadily. He seemed clueless, but Maglor was not about to explain anything. He gave him the lamp, satisfied that Amras held it for him and so that he had both his hands free.

“Nelyo, let’s go,” he spoke calmly, wondering what to do. He couldn’t remember having ever seen Maedhros drunk in Middle-earth; the times of carefree festivals were gone forever. His brother would not dull his senses even during the long peace. This time, however, he had crossed he line, or perhaps he had not taken into account the influence of Alcarino’s medicines.

It took some time before Maglor managed to convince him to get up, but it seemed that even after all these years his voice had some impact. Slowly Maedhros ceased struggling and let himself be led to his chamber. Fortunately, they met no one save for the guards, who just held the doors open for them. Amras followed his brothers, the crystal lamp swaying in his hand.

“You should not have let him drink so much,” said Maglor with reproach, once he was sure Maedhros was sleeping and should not be plagued with nightmares.

Amras stood, leaning against the wall and watching his brother, but at this remark he laughed bitterly.

“Me? Him? He is the elder one.” The younger redhead had someberd up a bit, but not enough to know when to stay silent. As much as Maglor might have hated it, his youngest brother, usually reserved, became painfully sincere after a few drinks and he rarely had pleasant things to say.

“It didn’t serve him well,” he noticed. “And you’ll suffer in the morning, so perhaps you should just go to sleep? And do thank Dinessel, she spared you a stiff neck,” he added in an ostensibly patronizing voice, since Amras seemed to be in need of an elder brother.

He failed. The angry, empty stare he was given had nothing to do with his little brother.

“Don’t you see? We no longer know. What should, what need, what shall be done,” hissed Amras. He pushed himself from the wall and left unsteadily. He had the decency not to slam the doors behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> I'm dying to know what you think, of Amras especially.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I am open to any kind of discussion. If there's someting messsed, please don't hesitate to tell me that.  
> Thank you for reading, there's obviously more coming soon.


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